Desperation Begets Need
by LibraMoon
Summary: She came with the tide, broken and begging the Berserker tribe for help. She claimed she needed him. Dagur the Deranged has never been needed before. And, he won't give that up. The voices agree. Per Request. FEM!HiccupxInsane!Male!Dagur. AU. No Dragonriding. Dark Themes, Mature. WARNING Character Death is involved, but not Hiccup or Dagur.
1. Chapter 1

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for How to Train Your Dragon, or any affiliated licensed ideas. Rated M for suggestive themes, Dark imagery._**

 ** _WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH, AU (NO TOOTHLESS OR DRAGONRIDING), FEM!HICCUPxDAGUR. ADULT THEMES AND MENTIONS OF NON-CON._**

 ** _Per Request._**

OoOoOo

Bored!

Bored.

Boooooorrrrrrreeeeedddd.

Dagur cackled to himself. Red hair glinted in the sunlight as he attacked another stationary target with his throwing-axe. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy practicing, but to High Thor's throne did it all have to be so _painfully_ tedious? He was already known for his... less than orthodox methods on the battlefield. As far as Dagur was concerned, dirty tricks were perfectly legitimate. Humans were crafty creatures, almost as bad as dragons really, and anything he did them to in combat was perfectly justified. After all, their goal was to kill him, and frankly Dagur didn't like that plan.

All things considered and what not.

His green gaze raked over the targets with contempt and some parts of distaste. This wasn't any fun at all. However, such things were required to keep his standing with the Berserker tribe. They were a _rowdy_ lot. He cackled at the thought with glee. Now that would be worth his glory. Worth his time! This... _this_ was just plain annoying.

Seriously though, who did he have to kill around here to liven things up a bit-

"Ship!" A guard shouted from the east and Dagur turned. His copper brow raised in a fiendish sort of amusement.

Ohhh! Goodie!

Something to do, or someone to maim. Not that he really cared which option it was. Dagur reassuringly touched the hilt of his sword. His veins thrummed with excitement. He nearly let out another round of crazed laughter, but refrained. His father said it upset the men. Especially when Dagur had weapons.

He wasn't exactly sure _why._

 _But he would toe the line, so to speak, for now._ The voices reassured him in a nearly crooning tone.

Yes. Yes, he'd be a good Viking for now. Well, mostly.

He raced to the nearest look out point, where the original call of the guard had come from. His emerald gaze greedily devoured the sight. The slightly singed sail and damaged hull of a...

Berk ship?

Oh Thor take it all. What in the name of Loki did they want now? His father was far too trusting of that Berkian Chief. Stoick. Bah! Who had need of that stuffy old Viking? Dagur knew he could defeat that lump (Of what he was certain was mostly beard hair) down, without much of a sweat. Oh! Was a nice thought. He loved these. Images bloomed in his head of savagery and dealing the final blow before collecting the glory due to him.

Ah, the small things in life.

OoOoOo

By the time it docks, his father, Oswald the Agreeable is already standing at the docks with a fierce look about him. After all, it was a huge violation of custom to come unannounced.

Well, that and something was clearly wrong. The ship barely looked like it was keeping above water. However, Dagur was all but dancing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. There could be war! He loved war! It was what Viking were made for and he had inherited the Beserker taste for blood. Dragon or human, it really did not matter all that much to him.

The grin on his face is nothing short of unholy delight, with his teeth gleaming like those of a beast's, as they wait. The silence is nearly unbearable. Honestly, was it too much to ask for someone to hurry up? He did actually still have things to do after this.

That chicken had been eyeballing him again. It was time for more target practice. Dagur huffed a small snort of amusement.

However, when a figure did appear, it was not the hulking and tall Stoick, he had been expecting. Nor that wood troll looking Gobbler. No.

It was _Hiccup._

Hiccup who looked as if she had just come from the bowels of the dammed world, instead of her homeland. Hm. It wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't just the _tiniest_ bit intrigued.

Something had put that dead look in her gaze. The girl that had always managed to duck just in the knick of time from his daggers, stared at nothing. He tilted his head, watching her with acute interest. Her eyes did not even appear to register the dozen or more Beserkers staring at her. The wind nearly swallowed her voice in the soft breeze that blew.

"I am Hiccup," she said, which Dagur about laughed at. There was no need for introduction. Even they knew Hiccup's name and _reputation_ as the worst Viking. Though Stoick did not exactly go spreading that tidbit around.

Her chin tilted up slightly, defiantly, though she looked as if the same breeze that made him have to strain to hear her, would knock her over.

"Chief of the Hooligan Tribe."

 _WHOA!_

Now, that, got his attention. It was worth having to keep quiet to hear her. His Father, Dagur knew, was equally shocked by the announcement, but for different reasons. He had apparently considered Stoick ...a... _Friend._

Dagur had no need of those. He was going to be chief. Respected, feared, adored... whatever.

It was then, that he noticed, she held her Father's shield. What remained of it at any rate. He recalled the kind of child Hiccup was, though to be fair, she was older now. But still, he could see that it should be too much for her to hold.

"I have come for... I have come for..."

Hiccup, to her credit, did not tremble, nor did move. He had to watch closely just to make sure she was breathing. She simply was. for a few heartbeats at least.

One of the guards, then another, boarded the ship. Hiccup stood still.

Dagur's mind raced. What had happened? A dragon attack? Had it wiped out the island? He gleefully sort of hoped that Hiccup would tell him about it.

"Chief! There are many wounded." One called, and Savage moved to board the ship as well. Dagur watched the expression on his face shift. Not a good sign. Even Dagur was given a moment's pause.

It was Savage that picked the unmoving Hiccup up, and lowered her toward his Father's outstretched arms. Her father's shield was carefully pulled from her stiff grasp. He set her down, rather gently, and Dagur noticed something else.

Hiccup... was missing a leg.

Okay, he had not seen that one coming. He glanced at it, seeing it was some crudely fastened pieces of metal, was part of it a sword hilt? What in the name of Thor-

He moved closer to her, until he was only inches away, and for once Hiccup did not flinch away from him. Nor did she sass him with a snarky comment. In fact, Dagur would hazard a guess that she was lost in some world of her own.

Boy, did he know how that went!

The voices agreed.

"Its women and children." Someone muttered from above.

"Mostly children."

Whispers. Oh, whispers sometimes crawled under Dagur's skin like little night terrors. But for now, his attention was reserved for Hiccup.

"Are they-?"

"Some, but not all." Savage said in a resigned tone.

But his face, so near hers, as he looked this way and that, caught her attention and seemed to rouse her from whatever stupor she had been under. His Father was dealing with what had none-too-gracefully landed on their dock, when Hiccup shifted slightly and looked right at him. She blinked, as if seeing him through a Fog, but he was right there.

"D-Dagur?" She questioned softly, a heart-clenching wistful hope, in the warble of his name.

One that had him stilling with the same poise one would show to a Nadder. The voices in his head were strangely quiet at her tone.

"Hiccup." He said, for lack of knowing what to say. He should call her Chief, but this was Hiccup and frankly he'd been beating her up a bit since they were very young. It was hard to stop right at this moment.

Her eyes filled with crystalline tears. The mask of blankness she had worn, too numb to feel, crumpled, and she shakily lurched forward. Her arms wrapped around him tightly. Well, tightly for Hiccup. And her face buried in his chest. She was too short to reach his shoulder. He could feel the heat of her tears soak into his undershirt. He should have worn his armor. This unsettled him. Hiccup never _cried._

Usually. There was that time after he tried to drown her, but his father smoothed that over, and Dagur had been fairly certain some of that was sea water and not tears. Fairly certain. The voices told him so.

"Dagur," she said in a muffled and lost voice, "I need you. Please. He-he-help!"

Then she tried to bury her small frame deeper into his larger one. Huddling for protection. She was latched on tighter than a dragon to a sheep it was carrying off. He blinked.

Dagur's hands shook.

Need.

 _Need._

Such a strange word. It made something in his head twitch. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. That irritated him. He wanted to push her away, shove her off and demand she be a Shield Maiden like she was _supposed_ to be. But, then again, this was _Hiccup._

His right eyelid started doing that odd rapid blink it sometimes did when he couldn't make up his mind.

Need? She... _needed_ him? A deeper voice, much more quiet than the others rang out in his thoughts. Something instantly riled to the forefront of the Beserker blood. No one had ever needed him before. His eyes glazed over slightly as he listened to the newest voice. The one that made him place a hand on her head. She smelled of smoke, rancid blood, and death.

He knew those smells well. They would never go with the scent of Hiccup's smelted metal and wood shavings.

Wrong! It was all wrong! The voice, this new and unknown one, screamed at him.

 _Something or someone had hurt Hiccup._

Which was now a _bad_ thing. It was a strange day, even for Dagur.

"They're dead." She sobbed into his tunic. "I... I couldn't-. They came under the cover of night. You have to- _please_...I-"

"Dragons?" Oswald asked, from above, his voice gentle.

Dagur drew Hiccup closer, wanting to smash his father's face in for talking to Hiccup. Strange. He'd never had that reaction before. At least, not over Hiccup.

She shook her head, and Dagur was keenly aware of the weight of her in his arms. The shivering of her frame against his. _Protect._ The voice whispered with conviction.

Hm. That was also a new idea.

"Who, lass?" His father urged.

Her tear stained face lifted, and Dagur had to hold her steady as she moved to turn, a hollowness in her eyes he didn't like. She seemed unsteady on the false limb.

"The Murderous tribe."

Dagur nearly crowed with delight. He wanted to pull her close again, though any sane person was usually terrified of Dagur being this close. He didn't understand that to Hiccup, he was known. He was an ally, no matter how deranged. In her distressed state, she had latched on to the first figure she knew.

As frightening as it was, Dagur was _safer_. Oswald understood. The new and very young chief of Hooligan had fled to allies for protection. He had seen the horror of the ship. If they were what was left... it was grim for her Tribe. She had only a handful of very young women and a few children. The number of living was no greater than seventeen. The eight or nine she had lost along the voyage would need buried. His men would see to the lucid wounded and ill. Disease had taken some on the voyage to this island.

That they had made it here was nothing short of a sign from Odin.

How the girl had managed to stay awake and fight the pain was beyond Oswald. It appeared Hiccup did have some of her father in her. From what he could see, she had been the only one in decent enough condition to steer the vessel. Which meant she hadn't slept much, if at all. With a leg lost to boot. He marveled that she wasn't delirious from thirst and hunger. Though, in her shape, she likely had not done much but try to function.

The ship was woefully under-provisioned.

It was also of great surprise that she hadn't been captured. He would of thought her to be among the first captives or casualties.

The Murderous were a tribe of nearly all men. It was easy to understand what they had attacked Berk for. Women and bloodlines. None would have them. No woman of honor, at least. Let alone any of the shield maidens.

Vikings took. It was their nature. They conquered, and The Murderous were lead by the ruthless and least honorable of the Viking lot. The devastation they could bring was nearly worse than the Beserker tribe.

"I saved as many as I could..." Hiccup trailed off with a sob. An apology of some sort buried in her words. "They just got so _heavy_ after a while. I could on- only-"

Only save so many? Only do so much? Only escape capture for so long? What did the child witness? He would stand by the treaty. He would honor his slain ally, his friend. Stoick the Vast.

Dagur's eyes glazed over, and Oswald's heart clenched painfully for the girl. There was nothing to apologize for. What she had done was a great act of bravery, to see them avoid death or worse. Capture. Vikings were not ones to be taken. Not without a whole lot of damage along the way.

Wordlessly, he commanded his men to move the wounded. They would leave the dead for now. Oswald carefully held onto her father's shield.

He would watch over what remained of the Berk tribe as the Beserker's prepared for war. This was an insult against them. An audacity that could not stand. Oswald would no longer be so... _Agreeable._

OoOoOo

It wasn't so terribly obvious at first, that Dagur is glued to her side like a faithful war-hound. After all, his father is off putting together the men and weapons for war. And, that takes a great deal of time. Much to Dagur's annoyance and dismay. He wanted to be mutilating bodies by this point, but he knows better.

Yet, it isn't all that terrible because he's watching the Hooligans. Well, mainly Hiccup.

Hiccup needed him.

His cackles of insane laughter don't seem to upset her so much, these days. In fact, sometimes she even falls asleep while he trains, but only in broad daylight, and then she wakes up screaming. Which did get on his nerves. Its not fun to listen to her terrified screams anymore. He is going to bury his axe so deep in someone's head because of that. He used to love going to Berk just to mess with Hiccup, the Fish-one, and that Snotrag.

It was Snotrag, wasn't it?

Not that it mattered. His green eyes gazed at the young boy who had been so cocky and self-assured with his bragging. Though the weak thing never seem to stand his ground when Dagur challenged him. Snotrag was a lot quieter now. The others had been cloistered off with the Berserker women until they... uh... well, Dagur actually wasn't sure how long they were going to be with the women.

But he'd broken Savage's arm in three places for trying to take Hiccup with them. His father had scolded him for upsetting the wounded more, but Hiccup had looked up at him with those wide eyes and there had been _trust_ in them. Her hand had been reaching toward him. Trying to hold onto him.

It shook Dagur to the core.

That one voice was louder than the rest. It prodded at him to keep Hiccup close. And, he'd only hurt Hiccup as much as he absolutely had to. Which was still undecided at this point. She didn't even flinch anymore when he knives at her. So, he grew bored and stopped. With her. His own men were not so lucky.

He was by no means, less deranged than before. However, now he did not randomly run off. His green eyes always noticed, slicing across the distance between them like a hot knife through butter, where Hiccup was. And, if anyone distressed her, Dagur dealt with it.

Gleefully.

And, he still refused to acknowledge, out loud at least, that he sometimes made sure to leave Hiccup where she could not see him so that he could swoop in and beat someone when she became scared. Well, swooped in to save her really. Because it was Hiccup... and Hiccup needed him to save her.

From the Murderous bastards that had destroyed her tribe and home land. Dagur didn't need to guess, he knew they had likely razed everything to the ground. There would be much that he would pay them back for, and he was never one to leave a debt unsettled.

OoOoOo

She was Hiccup, Chief of the Hooligan Tribe.

If fourteen clansmen could be called a Tribe anymore. Three more had succumbed to fever or their wounds. Hiccup sat beside them, and said the prayer to their ancestors as they died. The Berserk Shaman was behind her, giving parting words to the souls as they headed toward Valhalla. Guilt, fury, shame, and penitence were eating her alive. She hadn't told Oswald the Agreeable. Nor Dagur the Deranged.

She could not utter the words. Could not speak the vile truth.

It was her fault they were dead. All her fault.

She had finally, _finally,_ started to erase the curse upon her existence...Hiccup had proven to be of some value. She had even... even made friends... and the Gods punished her, by striking down her Tribe. If she hadn't made Gobbler see! If she hadn't begged her father with fiery determination to try out her new weapons!

They... wouldn't... they wouldn't be dead. So, it could only be her fault. Oh, she seethed in rage toward the Murderous tribe. She wanted them dead. Wanted them to be banished to the hear after, never to harm another Hooligan soul again. However...

However, Hiccup was no true Viking.

She could not kill.

That horrible night had shown her that. Even as her father was slain, and her other kinsmen. Her hands had shaken around the hilt of her dagger, her arms felt far too heavy as she pointed her weapon at the unknown warrior. The one that had been attempting to subdue Astrid and do unspeakable things to her. Hiccup, had been able to must the courage to strike and wound.

But, she had not been able to kill him. She had looked into his eyes as a sick pit of could terror welled in her. She had struck over and over again. The wet squelching of flesh and blood. The warmth that had poured over her hands, making her grip slippery. The howls of his pain. Stabbing him. It had hurt him greatly, but that final blow...

She could not deliver.

Though blood had been spilled everywhere, and the fires loomed bright as the puffs of smoke and ash spread like a blanket over the island, Hiccup had only been able to come up with one plan. Seek out the Berserkers, their strongest allies, with whoever she could save. Bile in her throat, as she dragged a wounded Astrid to the nearest ship, which was already damaged in the attack, and hid her under fishing nets.

Of finding Ruffnut weeping over the body of her brother, who had stopped an Murderous Warrior from absconding with her virtue. Or of Fishlegs, who had been brutally dismembered with his father.

When she found Snotlout, standing over a corpse, with a wound which mirrored his Father's with bitter irony. She had tugged at him, screamed at him to come with her. Finally, Hiccup had slapped him with enough force to get him to move.

The moments of sheer quaking fear, as she snuck around the village she called home as it burned. The screams of her people ringing in her ears and she could do _nothing._ Scrambling back after dragging children, and women who were shattered into the boat. Struggling and clawing at the face of a man who came for her, until red blood coated his face and ran freely under her finger nails as she scampered away with her Father's shield.

Her claim for aid would need proof. She had rand down the dock, screaming at them to push the boat away. Those capable had been ready, lurking in the shadows, and took her order to heart.

It had cost her, her leg. A blade had come from nowhere, an axe, that had buried deep into the bone. Severing the muscles, mangling her leg, as she pulled herself over the boat's edge in a spurt of blind desperation not to die.

Praying to Odin, who loved her not, to protect them. As she ripped the axe from her leg with a howl of agony and cut the knot that kept the ship from leaving, as the thunder of many booted feet tore down the wreck of a dock that she had once fished with Gobbler on. Snotlout had been so brave...

He'd been the one forced to lop off her leg, if she was to survive. The wound would never heal. She would do best, Hiccup knew, to lose it and tend the stump left behind. Snotlout kept her alive until she regained consciousness. And Ruffnut held her down as they stitched it closed.

Then the sickness had set in, some had trouble drawing breath, others ragged with fever. Snotlout, collapsed after tending to the heavily wounded with Hiccup. Ruffnut had developed an infection from a wound given to her by her attacker. Astrid had yet to wake. A nasty blow to her head kept her between worlds.

Hiccup... Hiccup remained.

Tending the others in silence except for moans and wails. Steering the ship to where memories told her Oswald the Agreeable lived. Her mind in a loop over the last time she had seen her father.

He had been smiling. Boasting that she deserved a new name for the prosperity she had brought Berk. How the weapons had made slaying Dragons all the easier and lives had been spared.

Father...

Father had called her Hiccup the Clever.

However, in her heart of hearts she was _Hiccup the Curse._ And the last true Chief of Hooligan had died where he was born. On an island full of ghosts and memories.

OoOoOo

Hiccup keeps her people close.

Dagur, doesn't mind all that much. It just annoys him when she's not where he thinks she should be. It happens more than he likes to admit. It makes his skin itch, which then makes his nose crinkle, and he cracks a mad grin. That is usually when the other warriors choose to find something else to do.

He passes the time, by fighting and pestering Hiccup. A favorite pastime, because she doesn't wander all that far from him. Oh, farther than he thinks she should, but never very far.

"Does it hurt?" He asked her once, point to her ramshackle false leg with genuine curiosity.

"Yes," Hiccup answered steadily.

It made Dagur laugh until he fell over. She amused him. It was true. Hiccup only watched him enjoy himself. Her mind drifted to her people.

The 'Chief of Hooligan', however, has to watch over them. Its all she has left. Though Oswald has not demanded anything of them, Hiccup's pride demands they give back what they can. Now that the physical wounds have healed as much as they will.

Astrid was left blind in one eye, and her right arm still did not work properly. Though her friend was frothing at the mouth, near the level of a Berserker at full rage to avenge her family. Hiccup understood. Though it did not seep out of every pore, her rage was no less. The weak, one legged daughter, of the Great Stoick the Vast.

No one claims her a fault, but Hiccup knows. Oswald the Berserker Chief had summoned Hiccup for details about the attack, and Dagur had been there the entire time. She was... grateful for his presence. He had been the first face she recognized. The first one that wasn't an enemy of her mind waiting to slay her people. To destroy everything. And, somehow, the insane gaze that watched her made her feel as if nothing could happen to her without Dagur being aware of it.

On some level there was a twisted comfort in that. No surprise attacks under cover of night.

Snotlout doesn't speak, unless its to Hiccup. She had never believed there would come a day where she missed him fawning over Astrid like some love-sick pup. Nor a time where she would long to hear the Twins arguing.

Ruffnut always looked lost now. Searching for her brother the way Hiccup wakes at night clutching for a part of her leg that no longer exists. A fierce light in her eyes as she trained with Astrid and Snotlout. Blessedly, no one comments that they train because they are now the oldest fighters left of Hooligan. Nor that Hiccup is the eldest among them by three hours.

At the tender age of twelve to thirteen, as Oswald looks for ways to legally challenge the Murderous tribe without violating a treaty with the Outcasts as they mercilessly prepare for war, Hiccup steps back into a forge for the first time in year.

Deranged emerald orbs watch her intently. Cackling as Hiccup stares at the embers with a wisp of a fond smile. The first she had displayed since she came. Hiccup doesn't notice the way his face goes strangely blank, nor how his eyes turn slightly brighter as she picks up tools and inspects them. He's not all there and she has known that since their youth. But he has taken to only addressing her by her name, and not her title.

An insult as much as an endearment, because nothing is simple with Dagur. It is the reason they no longer go swimming since that incident when she was eight. But if someone else called her by her name, they were punished by Dagur. Hiccup did not interfere with the workings of another tribe.

OoOoOo

The first time the dragons attacked, after Hiccup came, Dagur ripped the wings of a Hideous Nightmare, because Hiccup is utterly hopeless at staying where he puts her. Idly he wonders why Stoick never taught her to stay away. Yet, she runs toward the Hooligan Children, clustered among the various families that had willingly taken them in. The Hooligan Tribe had never betrayed the Berserkers, even when others wanted them too.

"Thor take it, Hiccup!" Dagur said with a snarl. "Stop trying to get yourself killed!"

Her eyes widen, and she looks at him. Peers up at him with large and guileless eyes. He watches as she swallows, her mouth opening to say something, only to close again.

"Fascinating," he rumbles as he turns to fend off another dragon, slicing at it with his sword.

He almost missed the shy and sad words she stated next.

"Thank you, Dagur."

His veins thrum and part of him is buzzing with a vast amount of pleasure and there is a thrill making him howl with delight.

Hiccup needed him, and Hiccup thanked him.

Dagur decides he likes the voice that tells him to watch over Hiccup. He smiles with bliss as he chops the head off the dragon that dared to challenge him.

OoOoOo

Dagur likes how is Father is now. His father far more... blood thirsty. He takes the men to task, training them ruthlessly. Its like the glory of old has been restored. He had been thinking about 'usurping' power because of how slowly this was going, but now... _NOW_ he could talk with his Sire about things! They strategized about the best ways to kill, all the spots that rendered a man useless in battle. Of blood and honor. Of vengeance and a lack of mercy his people are renowned for.

But... Dagur gets distracted...

By that voice in his head that is changing. The one that makes his thoughts about Hiccup turn...

More obsessive.

That smile, the one she had in the forge, tells him she's still in there. What's more, something in her seems to come _alive_ as he watches her create drawing after drawing of weapons. Like a crossbow hidden in a shield! That's just, awe inspiring to him. The frail young woman offers to make enough to help the Berserkers in battle.

Time passes, when she works over the forge. A steely determination in her normally soft gaze. The emptiness seems to recede when she is there, or with Dagur. It grows worse with her fellow Hooligans. But here, oh, watching her at night, as he tells her about his day, makes Dagur... content.

Dare he say, happy.

Not a normal Berserker emotion, but he's going with it on this one. Hiccup always listens, and now some of her biting sass comes out, if Dagur waits patiently enough.

"You don't need a longer sword, I made you a crossbow-shield."

Dagur huffed.

"I wouldn't need the crossbow if you gave me more reach with a longer sword."

She gives him a look. Its a vague similarity to the looks she used to give him on Berk.

"Uh Huh. And how would you lift this longer, and let me remind you -heavier-, sword for over an hour in battle."

He cackled.

"No battle with me lasts an hour."

"No," Hiccup agreed, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "But you will be charging all over the place from one enemy to the next, and that could be over an hour."

He eyed her balefully.

"I have stamina." He leered.

Then Dagur caught himself. He's older than Hiccup. A man that had already proved himself on the battlefield and with dragons. However, he's not that much older than her. And, somewhere -the voices whispered- he knew that. He's been glad of it. The Hooligan didn't understand the tone the Berserker used, and huffed a breath dismissively.

"No one can last that long."

He winked, before he could stop himself, as he leaned closer toward her and the heat of the forge.

"You haven't dealt with _me_."

Something in his twitched uncomfortably hot, thinking that Hiccup had better not deal with anyone else. Other than him. His eyes dropped lower, to her covered chest, and the swell of femininity that is had just begun really starting to appear. Dagur swallowed. Blinking that it was strange to think that gangly little Hiccup...

Hiccup...

 _His Hiccup._

Dagur paused. What had he been thinking? What in the Hel had he been thinking? It was Hiccup! Hiccup who needed him.

Who trusted him.

Who spent the majority of her days in his company.

"Very few people can deal with you Dagur," Hiccup reprimanded him lightly.

His grin had been wide, but it grew wider. He eyed her a moment longer.

"You can."

She said nothing, and returned to her work. Dagur gloated from his corner. His eyes twitched to the left and right. No one had better have been watching her as he was. Only Dagur was permitted to watch her. Only Dagur could...

A chicken clucked, and it was the last thing the poor bird did. His knife flew across the yard and embedded in the bird from thirty paces away.

"Really, Dagur? Stop killing the chickens."

He howled with laughter, under Hiccup's disapproving stare.

OoOoOo

The Hooligan Chief, is fourteen by the time war finally comes.

The tiny band of four warriors is outfitted to the teeth, literally for Snotlout, who they had quietly named -as per tradition before heading into battle- Snotlout the Silent. Hiccup granted Astrid the title of Astrid the Vengeful, once she returned victorious from battle. A rank of shield Maiden would also be granted to her.

Ruffnut asked for one that would befit her as she once had been. A tribute to her fallen brother. Hiccup smiled, gently in understanding. The bond of the Hooligans was so tightly-knit that even Dagur was getting a cramp from trying to muscle in-between them. He'd been doing that a lot lately. Especially if Hiccup was alone with Snotlout. Or Oswald...

Or any male for that matter.

Hiccup names her Ruffnut the Wild. Something that makes a grin appear for a few heartbeats.

"Yes, that sounds like him." The single twin agrees, her voice roughened from shouting war cries for the past two years in her training.

Oswald swore they were ready.

Dagur inched closer, though precious little room was there to be had, as Hiccup let the others leave. A want was there, to let the dead rest in peace. Her father would not calm in the halls of Valhalla, until Hiccup had seen his murder struck down.

Hiccup had been forbidden to go. Oswald the Chief of the Berserkers had made it part of their continued good will toward the Hooligans. Also, should Hiccup fall, Oswald knew that his friend's line would fail to continue. And, he had sworn on pain of dishonor to protect Hiccup to the Ancestor's of the Slain Chief.

Dagur had laughed and nearly danced as Hiccup argued for a good two hours. At last, Dagur had flung her over his shoulder, and carried her back toward the dwelling she had been granted.

Hiccup raged until she was spent. Some very interesting and creative insults had been hurled at every person imaginable, and Dagur had crowed at what a funny girls she was.

"I am a Chief!" The Hooligan snarled, when he set her down.

The male Viking cooed.

"Aw, that's so adorable. You think I care!"

That brought her up short. Her wide eyes blinked in confusion.

Hiccup redoubled her efforts, after a chance to glare at him.

"I am your ally, I -"

Dagur stepped closer, staring down at her intently. Grinning like a lunatic.

"You are my ally," he said seriously. "Of a whopping fourteen people."

It was a low blow, it was unspoken and they both knew it, but it was correct. She grit her teeth, body shaking in rage, prepared to lunge at him.

"And, Hiccup, you might lose three of them."

Her heart slowed in her chest, until the beats where painful.

Dagur, though, did not seek to spare her the truth.

"You know our way, Hiccup. You know as well as I, that they are prepared to die. And that it is very possible that they will. And if they do, you will be Chief of eleven people. Including yourself."

His eyes glazed over for a moment, then he grinned.

"So, ten really. And thirteen right now."

"I am counting myself." Hiccup hissed.

His face scrunched up and he stroked his chin where his beard was filling out nicely. Green eyes caught her gaze and held it.

"You're not really all that good with numbers, are you?"

Hiccup cursed at him again. But it only amused him even more, as he circled around her like a predator. Hiccup took a step back, something in his gaze had changed. The way he watched her now, was... different. Though Hiccup did not understand it. She did know that he made her feel nervous. Yet, it was not an unwelcomed nervousness. He was Dagur the Deranged, he did whatever he wanted anyway.

She stood there as he moved about her, eyeing him balefully.

"You will wait for me, Hiccup." He commanded suddenly, towering over her with that odd leer on his face.

Where would she even go? She wasn't going to leave the island. Her weaponry had helped them through every Dragon attack since Dagur had snapped her out of her stupor. And now, her people and his were going off to war.

Hiccup tilted her head, and crossed her arms, knowing that Dagur's moods changed suddenly, but she would wait here and not leave. Even if she hated it. Dagur was a bit crazy, but she also knew he was right. And, that Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Astrid were prepared to die for their Chief. However, Hiccup should be with them, out there on the battlefield!

This didn't feel honorable, it didn't feel right. But...

But it was smart. The only way to preserve what remained of the Hooligan line. Outside of those that had been taken by the Murderous Tribe.

She nodded stiffly, agreeing to his statement.

"Fine," Hiccup said steadily, "If you will do me one favor."

Dagur watched her, like a predator or a Dragon about to go for its target. All Hiccup could see was the eerily happy smile he held, and the intense green of his eyes.

"Anything," he promised.

She glanced away and back toward him.

"If you see a man... with many scars that look as if they came from the same knife," she paused to take a shaky breath. Her gaze locked with his and Dagur was hypnotized by the sheer seriousness of her stare.

"Kill him for me."

She thought he might laugh, or even reject her favor. Instead Dagur nodded once. His voice was even and mild.

"He will die slowly."

Tears prickled her eyes, but they were of gratitude.

OoOoOo

It takes a full year to for the Berserker clan to have their chief stand proud upon their shores again.

Only now, Oswald had been succeeded by his Son. Dagur the Deranged. Having achieved the greatest honor a Viking can. Dying in honorable battle for a noble cause. Upholding his word.

Hiccup, _his_ Hiccup, is waiting at the docks, having grown since he saw her last. Dagur has been keeping the voice at bay for far too long. It slips in his thoughts, demanding that he return to check up on the Chief of Twelve Hooligans. His fingers ached to pick up his axe and bury it in that Snotrag's head. but, that might anger Hiccup and Dagur needs to be near her.

Because Hiccup needs him. Hiccup _has_ to need him. And if anyone has looked at her... has _touched_ her... he'll kill them. With as much satisfaction as he would take harming the Snotrag. Its not really all that personal, he just doesn't like men that talk to Hiccup.

But, he does honor the fallen, and he doesn't really want to tell Hiccup that Astrid went down taking four Murderous warriors with her. The woman would have been a fine berserker. The power and fury with which she struck, even made Dagur get chills. A warrior through and through. He had given her the rites of one. He also doesn't want to have to tell Hiccup that there are only twelve Hooligans, not counting herself.

They hadn't kept the women they had taken very long. After they had their fun, they had disposed of the women. Seemed a little unfair, and needlessly cruel. Even for his tastes.

The voices told him that they had been after something, but it hadn't been the women. Hiccup would know. She was the Clever sort. The kind that made his head feel fuzzy and ache when she rambled on too long.

He grins and waves at her, lobbing a stray spoon he found on the Murderous Tribe's homeland. Hiccup doesn't even duck, and gives him a questioning look when it bounces off her armor and lands harmlessly on the ground.

Dagur laughed, long and low.

The moment of absurdity doesn't last though, as Hiccup counts the heads of those as they come off the ship.

His smile disappears, and he glances down at the ground. He figures he won't have to tell her...

Hiccup likely already knows.

OoOoOo

It takes a month. For everyone to settle into some sense of normalcy. Dagur knows the Hooligan Chief just turned sixteen summers. And, he has been a man for longer than when he left for war.

Lust is a hard emotion for him. A lot easier than that 'protective' feeling for the woman before him. Just a lot more distracting.

It starts to burn under his skin, the want for Hiccup.

It is powerful, like a drug or a madness. And, Dagur knows a bit about both. Yet, his eyes don't wander from her, as they stare into her forge. Hiccup misses Astrid, which both chafes at his pride and doesn't. Dagur is enough for her. He knows he is.

He has to be.

Or the other voices get mad.

However, Hiccup doesn't pull away from him entirely. And, he admires how much she has grown. Watching her with a devouring gaze. He hasn't stopped thinking about Hooligan from the day she showed up on Berserker Island.

Now he's chief...

And he killed the man she asked him too. Just like she wanted.

Now Dagur... he wanted to have...

What he wanted.

The voice agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for How to Train Your Dragon, or any affiliated licensed ideas. Rated M for suggestive themes, Dark imagery._**

 ** _WARNING: AU. Still AU._**

OoOoOo

Snotlout hasn't enjoyed loud noises or revelry since the night most of his Tribe was slaughtered. He used to be the loudest of the lot, and now he much prefers the quiet. You can hear enemies coming if you have silence on your side. It is what he has told himself from the day he awoke to being cared for by the Beserker women. They don't fill his ears with sympathies or lies. They say nothing about what has happened to him. To all of them.

So Snotlout says nothing, as well.

Hiccup mourns Astrid's death. He would be the worst sort of villain if he did not also miss her. He does. She was his Sister-in-arms, a Shield Maiden of the Hooligan Tribe. Astrid was Snotlout's first love. But, now she graces the halls of Valhalla where the brave may live forever. Her right arm was her downfall. Snotlout knew it would be. He had seen how she favored it during the battle, and it had never regained the strength it once possessed. Yet, that had not delayed Astrid in the slightest from leaping into the fray. She had charged forward, full of bloodlust and the vigor of battle burning in her blue eyes.

It will be a memory he keeps until the day he dies.

Along with the memories of Hiccup dragging him toward the pathetic excuse of a once proud ship. The tortured screams she gave as he both cut and tended her leg. A moment of understanding had passed between them as he steadied his hand to deliver the blow. It had to be quick, clean, and with a great deal of force to sever the bone. His hands still tighten whenever he thinks upon the spurt of vividly red blood.

Hiccup's blood.

His rather un-Viking-like cousin, who had made a name for herself once more. In the time he had been gone, sailing with the Berserker warriors and their deranged Chieftain, Hiccup had been helping the other tribe. The ones... more like her.

She had begun to fashion replacement limbs for them. Making those that had been resigned to depending on others, back into the ranks of the able-bodied. New life had been breathed into the Berserker Tribe's mangled warriors. It was something that seemed so far beyond his understanding or reach. She had often done this in their childhood days. The days before his father had been slain, and Astrid walked the sky-path home. When Ruffnut had been part of a pair, and when his boasting had made his own ears glad.

Hiccup saw the world _differently_. Snotlout had always known that, for his parents spoke of it in hushed whispers when Stoick would not overhear. He had been jealous, in a sense, of the things she saw as _possible_ -with image and substance-, Snotlout could hardly pronounce let alone craft forth into being. Indeed, in his untainted childish days, he had been downright cruel to Hiccup.

However, what had happened to all of them, had forced him to grow into a much different person than he had been. Hiccup was his Chief now, even if only a few of them remained. And now that he had opened his eyes as well as his ears, instead of his mouth, he could see his cousin for what she truly was.

Brilliant.

Both her mind and her spirit. Though, perhaps, not a traditional fighting spirit such as Astrid and Ruffnut, Hiccup had a determination and yak-headedness that were a credit to their line. A bloodline that Snotlout understood, would need to continue. All that remained of two of the fiercest Viking families that Berk had ever produced. Hiccup would not be a young maiden forever, and the children that were stepping ever closer to the next stage of youth, would need trained in the ways of Hooligan, lest it be lost to time.

Snotlout no longer wanted to be the Chief, nor did he covet the status that went with it. What little was to be had now, or even before. He could see the very real burden placed on Hiccup's shoulders, in a way he never had before. He tried to help his cousin now, to ease her load instead of weighing it down. Snotlout wanted to be the type of man his father had been. Strong, dependable, and more levelheaded. A man that thought before he spoke and acted.

He knew, given time and hard work, that he could be.

There was care for Hiccup now, and affection. Not the sort that he would have wanted for a taking a wife, but enough that he truly believed they could be content. Perhaps even happy together, were Odin content. He wanted to give Hiccup all that he could. She was all he had left of his family. There were no parents anymore. No hoards of cousins to tease with and joke. Siblings were gone...

Everyone except those he saw here, were lost to them.

He had hardly been able to stomach the re-telling of what happened to the Tribe's women. Hiccup had understood right away, and they had spent time mourning the dead. But, the living must go on.

And, so, thought Snotlout, must the Hooligan Tribe.

OoOoOo

Dagur knows he isn't the only one to notice his new status.

The messengers that pour forth from ships of the various tribes that were previously allied with the Berserkers are a testament to that. He has become the Chief and must do what his Father Oswald had once done. Sign the treaties and keep the peace. Which the very thought of peace makes his eyes twitch and burn uncomfortably. Humans are not really a peaceful sort, and Dagur has never minded a little bloodshed.

His new title and mantle of responsibility have also brought forth another concern.

There are members of his tribe now, that flock to him and their demeanor has changed. Oh, they are still very wary of him, but the women also know that he is the Chief -there is power and protection in that-, and mothers always did want the best for their daughters. Well, most of them anyway. It would certainly never hurt the family to be marriage-tied to the Chief. They do understand that Dagur has _unique_ ways.

It isn't wrong to say that some of the girls are far more beautiful than Hiccup. Many are gifted on the battlefield. They are strong, noble, and independent.

Yet, Dagur wants none of _them._

He _wants_ the Auburn haired temptress that floats through every thought, off the battlefield. He wants Hiccup. The one that has been made a near darling of his people. The old warriors have found purpose once more. Staghart, who had lost one arm and both his feet to a rouge dragon, had been able to walk again thanks to Hiccup. The man had left behind his strong drink, and his eyes shone with light once more. Hiccup had seen the forgotten of his tribe, though they were still honored for their sacrifices, and given them the chance to be whole.

Hiccup crafted limbs of iron and leather. She used hide and bone to give depth. Dagur had never seen its like before. No one had. He also felt a point of pride that Hiccup made them tactical as well as practical. Her shields had given a large advantage on the war front. The Deranged chief himself had taken his into battle. Hiccup had hand carved the Berserker symbol onto the one she'd gifted him. Moreover, she had created a way of launching a long rope with weighted balls attached to it. Dagur had used that handy little trick to tie the feet of those he fought, if they had tried to run away. Many had died with the aid of that niffy weapon.

Death before dishonor, as was the Viking way.

So, his admiration does very much pay tribute to her abilities. What Hiccup could not do on the battlefield, she made up for in droves with strategy and craftiness. Dagur liked that. He also liked the way her brows would pucker as she smelted the metal. Or how her gaze would catch his, as he sat with her -telling her of his plans and dreams- as she worked, and Hiccup would smile at him. Occasionally, she would laugh at some of his more _erratic_ antics.

But above all of that, Hiccup paid Dagur the same amount of attention. Both before he was made Chief and after. That was what held Dagur nearly enrapture. Well, that and Hiccup _needed_ him. She treated him well and despite the number of yak and chicken related fatalities, she still let him into the forge every night as she worked.

And, oh! How it made his blood burn with lust and want. The voice in his head wanted to hold Hiccup. To press her curves against the planes of his hardness and show her just what a Viking male would do to a woman such as she. Dagur _aches_ with the want of her. She haunts his more lucid moments and lives in his dreams nearly constantly. He thinks she must have _some_ idea of what he wants.

She's seen the other women and men of the Tribe, even if she has no experience herself.

It also made the other voices furious when he spotted any other man looking at Hiccup. That included her quiet cousin, the Snotrag. Dagur did not tolerate the idea of competition. He was Chief, and he wanted Hiccup. Therefore, he would _have_ Hiccup. Though she is a chief herself, that in his eyes makes it only the more perfect. They are equals, and that is what Dagur wants.

Well, that and every night alone with the woman after they'd married. He would not dishonor, nor tarnish her reputation, by laying with her before any possible children between them could only be recognized as legitimate.

So, for now, he was biding his time, his slightly crazed green orbs watched her every move.

OoOoOo

New ships appear on the horizon. As Hiccup watches from her place near the forge. She can see them coming in near droves to reaffirm their alliances with the Berserker Tribe. With _Dagur the Deranged._ She has heard the tales of his exploits, both from his lips and the mouths of others. He is a hell spawned creature on the battlefield. He is unpredictable and reckless. A true terror, outside of Dragons.

She wipes the sweat from her brow, the tang of salt on her lips as she licks them. Hiccup feels slightly nervous, out of her element. They should have come when she was made chief, but so few Hooligans remain that logically she knows that she is of no value in battle. What warriors would she send? The only two she has? Snotlout has taken the oldest of the children and begun training with him. In four years time, she'll have three warriors to her tribe's name.

Its a bitter taste on her tongue, one she hates to swallow, but knows is the reality of her situation. Frankly, she feels insulted but understands that the aid of the others was never coming. All those years her Father had trusted in the signed words of old... meant precious little when the time had come. Hiccup had sent out, through Oswald, for retaliation against the Murderous Tribe.

Oswald had been kind to her, saying that the other Tribes would take a long time to gear for war. The Berserker Tribe was known for being the fastest to full-scale war. Hiccup had smiled, a wan and flat smile of a person who knows they are being humored.

She knew the truth.

They had abandoned the Hooligan Tribe and its Chief, after the death of her father. Their loyalty and good will was toward Stoick the Vast. The one that had bested them in one-on-one combat. To that, they had pledged aid to the Chief of Hooligan, Tribe of the island of Berk. Hiccup was clearly not that Chief.

Snotlout and she share glances, and Hiccup never confides her fears for the future for them. She is the Chief, and she will provide for them. Her services she has sold, as a master Blacksmith and crafter. A trade, she hopes, honors Gobbler. On better days, she imagines him fighting with her Father in the great beyond, where there is plenty of mutton and strong drink.

Hiccup huffs a soft laugh, as the men and women of the Berserker Tribe begin to filter down toward the ships as they near the docks. Her gaze cuts across the way, staring at Ruffnutt, who nods. An unspoken command had been issued.

Protect the children, do not let them be taken.

The Shield Maiden, only one of the Hooligan Tribe, moves forward with a deadly determination toward where the children are gathered. Away from those that Hiccup considered unknown, those that had never fulfilled their words. In short, Hiccup did not trust any of them. They had earned nothing from her. They would be given nothing, except a firm rebuke.

Hiccup wiped her hands on her leather apron, the one that kept her clothing from excess dirt and singing. She did not want to have to make new clothing. It was time consuming and it kept her from plying her trade. She needed to be indispensable to the Berserker Tribe, to provide for her own Tribe. Useless creatures were dead things. Parasites were cut out.

She put away the items she had been working on, and hid her sketches of new weapons under a false board in the floor, behind her forge. No one would be here, when so much was going on down there. However, she was one for every precaution now. Every measure would be taken if it ensured her Tribe continued. That was the only way, now.

With a steadying breath, the Hooligan Chief closed the doors to her workshop, and started down the way, toward the docks.

OoOoOo

Though she has certainly _not_ been invited, Hiccup appears by Dagur's side, when the first Chief comes down upon Berserker land. He is a large man, with a blonde beard nearly as long as her arm. His blue eyes bore into her with an intensity that Hiccup does not retreat from. Dagur is right there, and for some reason Hiccup feels secure in the fact that whoever this man is, he wouldn't get far if he attempted anything.

That isn't to say she doesn't have a few surprises hidden on her person, just for moments such as there. Or that there isn't something deadly about her false leg to deal with him. Hiccup stares him down.

A booming laugh answers her audacity.

"You most certainly are bold, woman. I will give you that!" The giant of a man shouts out, and it causes the ripple of unease to lessen around them. Dagur however, appears even more tense than before. With slightly glazed looking eyes.

"Who are you?" He asks bluntly, nearly bordering on rude. However, his tone suggests that it isn't.

"I am-"

"None of your concern," Dagur replies in a low and threatening voice. Taking a step in front of Hiccup. A wall of armored and insane Viking. The other chief takes notice, his blue gaze catches firey green and he pauses.

"Your woman then?"

Hiccup freezes, ready to deny the claim right away.

"She most certainly _is._ " The red-haired Berserker replies without hesitation.

The female of the group stares at him. Her gaze slightly wide, but thankfully she doesn't open her mouth. To correct him now, would hurt Dagur's pride and reputation. It would bring discomfort to his people. His was the only Tribe to help hers. Hiccup bites her tongue and says nothing. It is almost as if he were protecting her, and Hiccup understands and is slightly grateful as well as chaffed by the action.

Clearly, Dagur wishes to honor the promise of his Father toward the Hooligan tribes and their Chief. She could not spit on his honor for that.

"Well, then I'll be keeping my son from her." The mountain of a man says nearly cautiously.

The Berserkers were not known for talking out misunderstandings. Hiccup has learned this, and so it would seem, had everyone else. He was prudent, whoever he was, to see the deadly snake in the grass, and go around it.

Something flickers across Dagur's face, and a terrifyingly cruel smile blooms on his lips.

"See that you do."

Its the only warning Hiccup has ever seen Dagur give, and she has the feeling that he will only ever give _one._

As if summoned at the worst possible time, an equally tall, though much younger man begins his decent from the ship toward the grouping of three Chieftains. His long blonde hair is braided and held back in a traditional warrior's style, and his armor has seen evidence of many battles from the pitting. Hiccup can make out each place it has been mended back together. The work is far below her own, but it was definitely serviceable.

However, her gaze does not move from the Son because she sees his eyes. They are the same shade as Astrid's and for a moment, all she sees is her friend walking toward her. Lost in the memory of the time they had said their last goodbyes. Though she knows that this man is obviously not Astrid, the sense of sadness is still there. It takes Hiccup a moment to realize that he is watching her as well.

Her face remains impassive, but she leans slightly closer to Dagur. These men, and the ones following on the various other ships are all dangerous, and she will look at them as such.

"My son," The Chief says in a reserved tone, "Roriek the-"

"Ah! So I see the Thunder Tribe has come!"

The shout is so loud that Hiccup winces involuntarily. Too much noise, and it brings unpleasant feelings with it. Reminders she does not need nor want. In the time it takes to reorient herself, the two men she does not know are caught up with a rather thin man whose beard seems to eclipse the whole of his face.

His dark brown eyes move from Dagur to Hiccup, and he pauses. Lingering on her with evident surprise. She feels the warmth of Dagur as his heat radiates off of him, blindly she ponders when she got so close to him. Heavily, a sense of dread pools in her stomach, but she keeps it at bay. She will not show weakness to them. She is Hiccup, daughter of Stoick the -

"-Vast."

The word shakes her from her thoughts. Her gaze roves from one face to another and she pieces together by the look of Dagur's amused but frustrated grin, that she was speaking aloud.

Silence reigns, and the sounds of the ocean nearly feel painfully loud as the interlopers appear as out of place as she feels. Her back stiffens, but she would not fail her people. Her precious twelve people, all of whom need her.

"Stoick's child?" The Blonde mountain questions, blue gaze unreadable.

His son looks far more interested in her than she thinks is necessary. Saying anything could create diplomatic problems that Hiccup cannot put weight behind. She could fight them, one on one, but she knew very little about them. Their ways and abilities were unknown to her as of yet and that was a needless risk.

"I am Hiccup," she repeats, staring at him in the eyes, but it left her slightly unnerved. As did his son watching her so intently. "Chief of the Hooligan Tribe."

The thin one, with his bushy black hair, makes a sound. It is caught between surprise and disbelief.

"Tribe?" He repeats. "More of you survived?"

She tilts her head at the question, glancing at Dagur. The Berserker was preoccupied having a glaring match with every male present. There must have been some subtle nuance that Hiccup was misreading.

Before she can answer, the blonde mountain tips his head in acknowledgement.

"I am BitterRoot, Chief of the Thunder Tribe."

Hiccup does not recognize that name, nor that Tribe.

"We are allied to the-"

"Previous Chief." Dagur's words are a sharp reminder that nothing has been settled yet.

The mad cackle that bursts from his lips disturbs the others, but Hiccup remains unaffected, as she shifts her gaze around, seeking and finding Snotlout up on the ridge with the Berserkers. She gazes down, then up, and her cousin nods slowly.

Hiccup doesn't trust them, which means, no Hooligan will.

OoOooo

They cannot have Hiccup. He'll kill them first. Dagur will cut out their hearts with their own swords and make them watch as he eats them. Every bite.

The voices buzz about his skull, making it feel tight and painful. He cannot lose her. Hiccup needs him. If she is taken away from him, he'll have failed her. So, he won't let them have her. He won't permit it.

Ever.

Each syllable from their lips causes his blood to boil until he can hardly tolerate not cutting them down. But Hiccup is pressed against his side, watching everything with that same expression of distrust that he feels. That realization calms him.

Hiccup doesn't believe their honeyed words or attempts to lure her away from him. No. _Not_ Hiccup. She only trusts him. Only needs him. Only... _wants_ him.

Yes, he wants Hiccup. And it makes his shoulders tense with the effort it takes to suppress knocking the heads of the other Chieftains together. And to bore out the eyes of that one blonde male, far too close to Dagur's age. The one that is a very real threat against him, because he sees the way those blue eyes watch Hiccup.

Only _Dagur_ can watch Hiccup like that.

Before the Roriek leaves, Dagur will give him good cause to never look at Hiccup again.

OoOoOo

Dagur doesn't wait very long, to pull her to the side, away from the others. An argument on her lips, a refusal to leave and that she has every right to know what they want. To learn why the Stonefist Tribe did not come to the aid of the Hooligan and demand combat for the slight.

But those words, and that argument are stolen by the bruising and fierce kiss he press against her lips.

Hiccup holds still, as her brain attempts to process the animal-like fierceness in which he claims her mouth, and she... yields. Not understanding what it is that he wants. To show dominance? To establish that she interfered and he would not accept it? Whatever it is, it leaves her skin feeling flushed and as if her heart is on fire with the way it pounds.

Dagur pulls back, a serious expression on his face, and his eyes gleam with a wildness she has never seen before.

"You are _mine_ , Hiccup."

There is something in the words that makes her insides twist. She tries to pull away, but his arms are like vices around her. The space between them is far too close, preciously little. He lowers his forehead toward her, the gentle pressure of it startles her further.

"Dagur," she begins in a voice that sounds far more steady than she feels.

"Mine. Hiccup. _My Hiccup_." He chides, in the same sing-song tone he used to torment the slacking warriors if he caught them.

She stares at him with wide eyes, wondering what has just occurred and how this all must be some way to protect the Hooligan Tribe. Because Dagur has been tense and on edge from the moment the Chief's met Hiccup.

"Dag-"

The woman tries again, wiggling within his grasp. Only to pause when his hand traces under her chin and his finger press softly at the pulse in her neck. He moves his head, his lips brushing against her ear, causing her to shiver.

"Your heart is racing Hiccup," he purrs with a gruff tone that makes her unsure or why she feels nervous. "Mine is too. Can you feel it?"

Emerald green eyes take up most of her vision, and he lets her go, only to reach for her hand. Hiccup doesn't resist as he places it over his chest. The armor prevents her from feeling anything but smooth and hard metal.

"Can you sense it Hiccup?" Dagur asks, looking far different from the boy that used to make visits from the Berserker Tribe a haunting experience. "Can you sense this bond between us?"

Hiccup doesn't know. Her hands shake and she watches him, at a loss for words. As the deranged smile he was known for slowly spread across his face.

OoOoOo

Snotlout simmered in rage from the shadows.

His silence had permitted him to do far more, and see far more than he ever had before. Or... ever wanted to.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I own nothing and gain nothing from it. Hey all, same warnings, Insane Dagur x Fem!Hiccup. And No DRAGONS. No Toothless will not be making an appearance. Hiccup is a cool enough character to be recognized for the ingenuity the character always has.**_

 _ **All rights to the creator of How to Train Your Dragon.**_

OoOoOo

Hiccup scarcely has a moment to draw breath, between Dagur's fiery gaze, and the feel of his skin upon hers. She stares at him with wide eyes, as he gently reaches out and strokes her cheek with his thumb. Her hand is flat against the cool metal of his armor.

She cannot feel his heartbeat, yet she would have to be dead not to feel her own. It thunders in her ears, and her hands start to feel clammy. Dagur is watching her with emerald eyes that almost appear to take up her entire field of vision.

"Bond?"

The question is whisper soft, and her mind races, attempting to puzzle out what he is telling her.

"Yes, Hiccup," He says firmly, with a smile that seems to make her feel hot and cold at the same time. "We will."

She blinks at his words.

"Wha-?"

His lips stop her question as it forms. Her skin flushes as she realizes what precisely he is doing. The thoughts that normally crowd her mind are simply nowhere to be found. There is only the quickened beat of her heart.

Dagur lifts his head, and it is in that moment, that she spies the head of the Thunder Tribe not far form them. His dark eyes watch the pair intently.

Suddenly, everything falls into place. Hiccup feels validated that Dagur is doing this all for their tribe. Of course, he had made the boast that she was his woman, so when they were watching, the part must be acted out.

That was rational. It made perfect sense now. She smiled at Dagur, in a way she hoped was pleased and sweet. To humiliate him now would only harm his reputation. Hiccup brought her hand up to where his rested on her face. She squeezed it gently.

"I understand, Dagur," the woman said, to let him know she comprehended his plan.

His grin is nearly blinding.

"I knew you would!" His booming reply echoed around them.

Nearly fondly, she shook her head at his antics. However, they would be calling for him soon. He had allegiances to hear and terms to work out.

"I must go now," he said, as if he could read her very thoughts. "All boring hum-drum stuff that I could not give a-"

"Berserker Chief!" The Thunder Chief calls, and Hiccup can see the twitch that starts in Dagur's face. A tick that she ahs been watching for years now. It tells her he is annoyed.

She also notices the way his eyes glaze over, it happened to him quite frequently. It was strange, an oddness to it that Hiccup couldn't place. It almost seemed as if he were intently listening.

Briefly she reflects upon her observation, as Dagur stumbled toward the other Chief. Internally she sighed. It would be a dreadful day for the chickens again.

OoOoOo

She barely takes five steps before a shadow looms in her way.

Hiccup draws back, hands flying to her side where a dagger hides in its sheath. She had not thought to use it in Dagur's presence, yet with the other unknown tribes about, it was her first thought. The shadow's edges become familiar as her eyes adjust to the dimness where her cousin steps forward.

"I do not trust him." Snotlout says in a quiet and calm voice. Once, in what seems like a lifetime ago, Hiccup used to do her best to tune out his harsh taunts. Snoutlout had not been a kind cousin. Hiccup was not blind to what sort of man he had been.

However, to judge him now, after all that had occurred. After the losses the both of them felt so keenly, would be crueler than anything he had every accomplished. Though he had been able to wound her frail confidence before they had reached the age of adulthood, when the wheat that grew in the hilled fields had been taller than she could ever hope to reach; he was not that same man now.

In fact, he hardly spoke. Yet, now, when he did, her ears perked up. Sharp eyes turned toward him, assessing the way he drew closer toward her. Hiccup, as the Chief of the Hooligan tribe, made it a point to listen to her people. What remained of them at any rate. And, it was doubled in intensity of her determination, for Snotlout who remained her only relative alive to draw breath.

"Whom?" She questioned, to clarify, her gaze glanced around, making certain they were well outside of earshot of any stray Berserker Tribe member that might be going about their business.

"Dagur," He replied readily. His voice was gruffer now, as if it continued to grow hoarse from disuse.

"We owe their Tribe a great debt-"

"We owed Oswald the Agreeable." Snotlout corrected, placing his hand firmly on Hiccup's shoulder. "You swore an oath to him, and I have followed your orders faithfully."

Indeed, he had, there was no need to remind her of that fact. Hiccup already knew it well enough. When she prayed to the silent Gods for understanding. When Odin and Thor did not seem to hear her pleas for vengeance and the prosperity of her dwindling clan.

She shrugged his touch off, staring into his eyes.

"I will not betray them." Her words were a near hiss, with a threat buried between them. Snoutlout drew back, as if she had struck him a mighty blow.

"You misunderstand me," her now stoic cousin continued, "I meant that he is not his father. I would never betray them either. It would make me no better than the foul Murderous Tribe that robbed us of our kin and homelands."

Her jaw clenched involuntarily. Her blood seemed the thrum in her veins, singing for some sort of final resolution. For their tribe to suffer as her's had suffered without provocation. The slaughter had been needless. Hiccup would have gladly died for them. Yet, that is her secret shame. Something that can never see the light of day. Something that must remain buried, with her beloved Father. Though they had never seen things in the same way, he had protected her. He had provided for her.

Stoic the Vast had died trying to save them all.

Briefly she closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. A bitter oath on her lips to curse them all for whores and bastards, the ones that taken everything from them. The ones that had finished off Astrid. The only other Shield Maiden.

Ruffnut refused to speak of it, after telling Hiccup the first night she had returned. A new scar, shiny and pink, was stretched across her left arm. Hiccup's keen gaze took in every bit of it and she congratulated the Shield Maiden on her honorable battle. As she had done for Snotlout in turn.

Her own unique prowess on the battlefield, of the men that had witnessed it, had earned Ruffnut more than a few yearning glances. The young woman paid it all no mind now. She had no time for thoughts of love and youthful dalliances. None of them did. For the call for blood to answer blood had not been answered fully.

Not until the Hooligan Tribe stood tall and fierce once more. Not until their fields were plowed by their own people. Until homes were once more defended by proud-

"Hiccup."

She opened her eyes, staring into the warm light that reflected in her cousin's eyes.

"I have heard you," the woman replied solemnly. "You do not trust Dagur, Chief of the Berserker Tribe."

He nodded firmly.

"I do not."

Though shorter, she squared her shoulders and looked forward, watching the way the wind played with the bits of chaffe from the recent harvest. The other tribes were still present and that meant that it was Ruffnut who guarded the children. Though they would not be children much longer.

Hiccup cleared her throat.

"Dagur the Deranged is the Chief of the Tribe that has taken us in. Filled out bellies, kept us warmed with fires they provided-"

"Hiccup-"

"Gave us reinforcements to slaughters those that had transgressed against us." Her voice took on a hard edge, "I have heard your complaint. Make no mistake. I will swear allegiance to Dagur as well, but I will put our tribe first. If he violates any part of what is honorable and just, we will leave sooner than planned."

Snotlout stiffened, staring down at her, as his face briefly showed his annoyance.

"What if he will not allow you to leave?"

Hiccup did not understand his question, the way he would have wanted her to. The inflection he gave, made him sound more of his old self. The childish one that had used his words to harm her. Hiccup glared at him fully.

It was true, she did not fully understand everything about Dagur. Yet, he had not sought to cause her, nor another Hooligan harm though he had ample opportunity. Dagur was like a dragon. Wild and unpredictable. It was as it had always been with him.

But no Hooligan had ever turned tail and ran from a Dragon.

OoOoOo

His skin feels tight, and his head itches. Dagur takes a moment to scratch at it, eyeing the other Chiefs with something borne from habit more than actual boredom. Every little movement they made was watched by the Berserker leader like a snake watched its prey. Ready to strike at a moment's notice.

It would not be a lie to say that he had two daggers stashed in his boots as they gathered with strong drink with the glow of the fire reflecting from behind them.

The voices echoed in his thoughts. Some wanted blood. Others wanted to a test of strength or wits. The loudest, but newest voice, reflected over the softness of Hiccup's lips. It reminded him firmly that Hiccup, the one-legged Chief of twelve people was his and his alone.

Emerald eyes switched quickly toward 'Roriek'. The man was about his same age, and that was going to be a problem. Not for Dagur. Dagur crushed his problems mercilessly. It might sour relations with the other Tribes.

The voices liked that idea. They liked it a lot.

A wicked smirk spread over his features, as his gaze remained locked on Roriek. The other man shivered under the weight of his stare. It was no small feat. And, it both amused and irritated the red-haired male. The horns of his helmet gleamed in the firelight. They lent a sinister appearance to his already intimidating visage.

"Who," He began with a half-purr to his words, "will be the first to offer something to the Berserker Tribe?"

Though deranged, Dagur was not one to give something away for nothing. If they wanted treaties of peace, then they would have to earn them. By Odin, they would.

The Thunder Tribe Chief slammed his goblet down on the table, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Droplets of mead stained the sleeve, and he paid it no notice. Some of it still clung to the long dark hairs of his beard.

Silence descended upon those gathered around the long, square and rough-hewn table. All eyes swung to BitterRoot as he let lose a short laugh.

"I will be the first to offer. For trade, as I did with the former Chief. Ancestors guide him. May he be in Valhalla where the brave may fight forever."

Dagur's lips quirked up higher. It was true that toward the end, he and his father had come to see things in a similar light. Oswald the Agreeable had been, quite fearsome in the end. A fact that cause Dagur no small amount of pride for his lineage.

The Berserker Chief moved his arms, allowing them to brace against the wood as he lazily looked the Thunder Tribe Chief up and down. Trade was what kept many of his people in amenities and not just sheer survival.

It would also be where he would procure the cloth and set his seamstresses to Hiccup's wedding gown. The traditional custom would have been that she would have to sew the gown herself with her female kin folk. However, since they were all deceased, such a task would have to be taken up by his womenfolk. After all, Hiccup was more useful and valuable to his people at her forge. And, he didn't exactly think her Shield maiden, Ruffnut, was the sort to master the delicate arts.

Her SnotRag cousin was but a nuisance to Dagur. He would be tolerated, as one would tolerate a lame horse, until it was put down.

The voices did not like the way he gazed at Hiccup. And, he always listened to the voices. Or rather, they guided him. Thinking about it over long made the side of his head ache. Therefore, it was best not to dwell upon it.

"Nine Sheep," Dagur commanded loudly, his left eye twitching ever so slightly. "Eighteen sacks of wheat and barley. And, three bolts of cloth."

BitterRoot narrowed his gaze.

"Your father was satist-"

"And he is dead." The Berserker reminded him, pushing back from the table. It caused all the men present to tense as he stalked over to the chair where the Thunder Tribe Chief sat.

He loomed over the man, even his shadow seemed to tower over the other. His teeth, the full set of white bones gleamed as he grinned.

"You deal with me now."

BitterRoot swallowed heavily, his dark eyes remained fixed on the Deranged youth.

"We have a deal, don't we, Thunder Chief?"

The unspoken menace that filtered through the air was not lost on those present. Oswald had been Aggregable.

But his son, his prodigy and legacy, was _ruthless_.


End file.
